It was Yi Xian’er who spoke. She had no fondness for Han Feng to begin with, and she liked it even less when someone belittled Yan Zhen. At this moment, her disgust toward him doubled.
Hearing such blunt words, Han Feng immediately lost face.
“All talk and no proof,” he said. “Could Little Brother Yan Zhen show us the Extreme Flame you possess? Let Han and the others broaden our horizons.”
Ji Ya turned her head and gave Yan Zhen a pleading look.
“Little Brother Yan Zhen, let them see it.”
Yan Zhen pursed his lips. With a flip of his hand, a bizarre flame—one gold, one silver, twisting together—erupted in his palm.
“Gold-Silver Fire?”
Han Feng recognized it at once, his eyes widening in shock.
The Gold-Silver Fire ranked around the hundredth spot on the Extreme Flame List—some said ninety-ninth. In any case, it outranked his own Phosphorus Fire and boasted far greater power.
The Gold-Silver Fire possessed tremendous plasticity. Once refined, it could be freely shaped into weapons, more versatile than any Mystic Artifact. It even countered metals and jade perfectly. In battle, an opponent might walk away unscathed, but their gear would likely shatter on the spot.
There was also a certain saying—
In ancient times, the Extreme Flame List held only one hundred slots. Later, the predecessors added eight more flames to reach the auspicious number of one hundred and eight, aligning with the cycles of the stars.
Those extra eight were mockingly called “pseudo Extreme Flames,” their power far inferior to the true top hundred.
Han Feng had never believed it before. But now, the instant the Gold-Silver Fire appeared, he felt his own Phosphorus Fire quiver and suppress itself within his body.
Embarrassment twisted into fury. A mere Mystic Practitioner had tamed an Extreme Flame—and not just any one, but a true top hundred Extreme Flame? How was that possible?
The Second Shopkeeper and Third Shopkeeper exchanged stunned glances. What the hell? How could a Mystic Practitioner withstand the baptism of an Extreme Flame? Forget refining it—even brushing a fingertip against one would reduce an entire arm to ash.
“See it clearly now? I’m putting it away.”
With that, Yan Zhen clenched his fist, snuffing out the Gold-Silver Fire.
He handled it with perfect ease, no strain whatsoever.
Han Feng couldn’t wrap his head around how Yan Zhen had done it.
“Anything else?” Ji Ya asked coolly. “If not, please leave.”
“Wait!” The Second Shopkeeper raised a hand. “Chief Manager, your little brother may have an Extreme Flame, but he’s only a Mystic Practitioner at best—a Tier 1 Pill Refiner, no doubt. Mentor Han Feng is a Tier 2 Pill Refiner. Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to treat you?”
“You’re mistaken, Second Shopkeeper,” Ji Ya replied smoothly. “A Mystic Practitioner’s cultivation is precisely why I chose Little Brother Yan Zhen— the lower the level, the easier it is to control. Treating this illness relies mainly on the Extreme Flame’s inherent strength and one’s fire control. Pill refining skill has little to do with it. A weaker grasp might just slow things down a bit, but I can wait.”
“But Mentor Han Feng’s Extreme Flame is superior!” the Third Shopkeeper chimed in. “The Gold-Silver Fire may rank higher, but with Little Brother Yan Zhen’s Mystic Practitioner cultivation, how much of its power can he unleash? What do you say, Mentor Han Feng?”
“Heh, you’ve asked the right person, Third Shopkeeper.” Han Feng chuckled. “Those of us with Extreme Flames can typically fight above our level, unleashing power beyond our realm. Little Brother Yan Zhen’s Gold-Silver Fire might match a Mystic Scholar’s output. As for mine? It can hold its own against a Mystic General.”
“See? Mentor Han Feng is clearly the better choice for your treatment, Chief Manager,” the Second Shopkeeper said, playing right along. “If we’re choosing, why not pick the best?”
Ji Ya glanced at Yan Zhen. He snorted.
“You don’t have a clue how to treat Sister Ji Ya’s illness, do you, Mentor Han Feng? You’re just here to scam money and women.”
Han Feng’s heart skipped a beat, his face darkening as he issued a veiled threat.
“Little brother, you can eat whatever you like, but watch your words. Otherwise, the consequences could be severe.”
Yan Zhen didn’t flinch.
“The Extreme Flame’s role in treatment is to draw out the medicine hidden deep in Sister Ji Ya’s meridians. Precise fire control matters far more than raw power… As for ‘bursting’ it out? Just admit you want to kill her.”
“Nonsense!” Naturally, Han Feng wouldn’t admit his ignorance. “Without enough firepower, how do you force out the medicine? If Mystic Scholar-level power sufficed, why has the Chief Manager’s illness lingered so long?”
The Second and Third Shopkeepers nodded vigorously in agreement.
“See? You really have no idea and just showed up claiming you can cure it.”
Yan Zhen sneered and pressed on.
“The medicine in Sister Ji Ya’s body is rooted too deep, blocking most of her meridians. An Extreme Flame’s extreme heat melts it away—just like in everyday pill refining. Get it? Mystic Scholar power is ideal for treatment. Any slip-up won’t harm Sister Ji Ya because she’s a Mystic Master. Plus, treatment takes two—her active cooperation means slightly lower firepower is just right!”
He had already practiced the full process on his beautiful master, so he knew every detail by heart. To him, Han Feng looked like a laughable clown.
“Coming here to con people without doing the slightest homework? You’ve really got me laughing.”
Han Feng flushed red then pale, but he was a graduate of Holy Land Academy after all—quick with words. He shifted tack immediately.
“Hmph. A mere Nine-Star Mystic Practitioner and Tier 1 Pill Refiner, trying to school me? Fine, then. I’ll give you a chance. You and I duel solely with our Extreme Flames. Winner treats the Chief Manager. How about it?”
“What the hell?” Yan Zhen’s look screamed idiot. “I already promised Sister Ji Ya I’d cure her. What do you have to do with it?”
Little punk, sharp-tongued brat!
Han Feng’s gaze turned sinister.
“What’s wrong? Scared?”
“Heh, you want a duel? Show some sincerity.” Yan Zhen’s lips curved, his eyes gleaming as he stared at Han Feng. “Let’s bet our Extreme Flames.”
The words stunned not just Han Feng and his group, but even the clueless Yi Xian’er and the hidden Aunt Mu.
Bet their Extreme Flames?
Such rare treasures, so hard to refine—wagering them so casually?
How did he dare?!
Han Feng glared at Yan Zhen, trying to see if he was bluffing.
“Fine! You want to bet Extreme Flames? Let’s bet Extreme Flames! I’ll gladly take that Gold-Silver Fire off your hands.”
Han Feng didn’t think he’d lose to Yan Zhen.
Yan Zhen: Nine-Star Mystic Practitioner, Tier 1 Pill Refiner, barely a teenager, probably with the Gold-Silver Fire for mere months, no battle experience!
Him? Six-Star Mystic Master, Tier 2 Pill Refiner. He’d trained in fire control and flame duels since childhood, refining his Phosphorus Fire for a full year. Experience galore!
Who could explain how he’d lose? He could beat Yan Zhen with his eyes closed!
“Then let’s seal it with a Blood Contract—to prevent any backtracking.”
Yan Zhen tossed over the prepared document, already stamped with his bloody fingerprint.
Han Feng’s eye twitched, but he bit his finger and pressed his own print onto it before hurling it back.
Yan Zhen handed the contract to his good big sister for safekeeping. Then he said,
“Let’s take it outside. No room to maneuver here.”
For maximum flair, pick a crowded spot—plenty of spectators gasping and gossiping like fishwives. That’s the thrill.
The group left Elegant Garden and arrived at a small plaza by the side entrance of Golden Jade Chamber of Commerce headquarters. A mini arena stood in the center, hosting daily shows to draw in customers.
Such a spectacle quickly drew eyes. Even the performers halted as the Second and Third Shopkeepers waved them off, clearing the stage.
Yan Zhen felt puzzled. Why wasn’t Sister Ji Ya saying discouraging stuff like, “You’re too impulsive,” or “He’s way stronger—how can you win?” or “Forget it; with me here, they won’t hurt you”?
He shot his good big sister an expectant look, hoping for some classic lines. Instead, Ji Ya just smiled back proudly, as if to say, “My little brother is awesome—he cares about his sister~.”
So he turned to Yi Xian’er. She merely said coolly,
“Yan Zhen, kill him if you get the chance. That guy’s eyes are disgusting.”
“…”
Well then. A Mystic Practitioner offing a Mystic Master? Ridiculous. No one worried about his impulsiveness? No pleas to turn back? Was he really unloved?
Yan Zhen’s eyes turned pitiful.
Once the arena cleared, a crowd had gathered, all wondering what brought three bigshots from Golden Jade Chamber of Commerce here.
Under the sea of stares, Yan Zhen and Han Feng stepped onto the platform, facing off across thirty feet.
“The Extreme Flame duel between Little Brother Yan Zhen and Mentor Han Feng is about to begin,” the Second Shopkeeper announced.
“The stakes: their respective Extreme Flames,” the Third added.
“Though their cultivations differ, both have agreed.”
“Rules: Extreme Flames only. No Mystic Power or Mystic Techniques to attack directly.”
They took turns as impromptu hosts, then asked,
“How will you decide the winner?”
Han Feng sneered.
“Until one falls. No tapping out. Dare you, Little Brother Yan Zhen?”
“Why not?” Flames kindled in Yan Zhen’s pupils. Mystic Power rose around him like roaring fire, cloaking him in a fiery veil. “Come on!”
